She sat on the matching love seat to their right with her legs crossed at the ankle, stockings shining on her plump knees. She wore a belted green dress and loose jacket. She had an exquisite manicure, with long red nails. Her short blond hair was fluffed and sprayed into place, with big earrings peeping out. Her lips were traced with brown lip liner. She was not what Gail had expected.
Rosa offered café; they declined. There was some small talk. Yes, living in Hialeah was quite a change from North Bay Road. No, Rosa didn't plan to be here long. How terrible about Mrs. Tillett. Yes, Rosa had met Irene Connor. In fact, Rosa would probably not have talked to Gail otherwise.
She had been born in New York. Her husband, a Puerto Rican, had been transferred to the air force base down in Homestead, and they had stayed. When he died, there were no children, and a friend recommended Rosa to Mrs. Tillett. For sixteen years, she had mopped, scrubbed, and polished Althea Tillett's house as though it were her own.
"Did they find who killed her?" Rosa frowned. There was a permanent crease between her eyebrows.
Gail said, "No. Not yet."
"I always spent Wednesday nights with my sister, or I would have been there." She made a little shudder. "Do they think Patrick was the one? It sounded like it, in the paper. He beat up Rudy, did you see that part?"
"Yes, I read that. Did you know them when they were kids?"
"No, the twins were in college already, and Patrick was finishing high school. I don't want to say anything bad, but he was strange. He would stay up in the attic with his books for hours. I don't think he could have killed her, though."
"What happened after Mrs. Tillett died? I believe Rudy and Monica came looking for a will?"
Rosa said, "Did you know I found Mrs. Tillett dead on the floor? Yes. I cried like you would not believe. The police asked me questions. They said I could clean up the floor the next day when they were finished." Rosa looked into her lap, her hands smoothing her skirt. "It was my place to do it for her, you know? I didn't want anyone else to. But it was real hard. That afternoon Rudy and Monica came over. I found them upstairs going through her papers. I said, 'What are you looking for?' And they said it was none of my business. And I told them if they were looking for a will, she didn't have one. But I guess I was wrong about that."
Gail looked at Eric, then said, "Why did you think there wasn't a will? Did Mrs. Tillett destroy it?"
"I thought she might have. She was out back about a month before she died, with a can of lighter fluid burning some papers on the seawall. She did the same thing about six months ago, and I asked her then and she said it was her will. She threw the ashes into the water."
Eric asked, "The papers she burned a month go—did she say it was her will?"
"No, I just I thought it was. One time she tore a will into pieces and flushed it down the toilet. I know because it clogged up and I had to clean it out, I thought maybe she burned her last will, so I told Rudy and Monica." Rosa's brown eyes showed she was insulted. "They told me I could go. My services were no longer required. They said that. They took my keys and sent me a check for five hundred dollars. But I guess they had the right. They're her family."
"Did you call Patrick?"
"No. I didn't know where he was. Rudy said he would tell him."
"I understand Mrs. Tillett left you some money in the will," Gail said.
"Yes. The lawyer wrote me a letter. Twenty thousand dollars. I want to put a down payment on a condo. I have a job as a receptionist in the afternoons. That's why I'm dressed up."
Gail smiled at her. Here was another person Patrick would want to pay in full if he won his case. "Did you ever meet Irving Adler? He was one of Mrs. Tillett's friends."
"Oh, yes. I know Mr. Adler." Rosa laughed. "The man with the little dog. If that dog was bigger, someone would have to shoot it, it's so mean."
"Mitzi," Gail said.
"Mitzi, right. He would bring gourmet dog food for her to Mrs. Tillett's house in case she got hungry. In the winter, he put a sweater on her that his wife had knitted." Rosa lifted her eyes.
"Mr. Adler died last night of a heart attack."
"He did? Oh. I am sorry."
Gail said, "Before he died, he wanted to talk to me about Mrs. Tillett. Something weighing on his conscience. Do you know what he could have felt guilty about? What he could have meant?"
Her head was moving back and forth, her face blank.
"Did Mrs. Tillett say anything about that?"
Rosa's gaze focused past the security bars on the front window. The panes in the windows were cranked open, and a pickup truck went by, mufflers throbbing, then fading away. Rosa said, "He came to see her. It was Monday, the week she died. I got back from grocery shopping—I shop on Mondays—and he was there. He didn't come very often. They were outside on the terrace."
"Did you hear what they said?"
"I don't eavesdrop."
"Of course not," said Gail. "But did you hear anything accidentally?"
She thought about it. "When I went out to take them some drinks they were arguing. Mrs. Tillett sounded mad."
"Mad? About what?"
Rosa closed her eyes. "Oh, what did she ... something like, she was fed up, she was going to put a stop to it, I don't know. And Mr. Adler was saying 'No, no, no. Don't do it, I won't let you do it.' Then they saw me and they didn't say anything else."
Gail exchanged a look with Eric. His face was pink with excitement, and he was sitting on the edge of the sofa, hands clasped between his knees. He said to Rosa, "What about other people who came to the house that week? She must have had visitors."
The crease deepened between her brows. "It was the usual thing, like Mrs. Simms came over for lunch on Tuesday. That's Jessica Simms, a friend of hers. All I heard them talk about was gossip. Oh, and Rudy came over—no, that was the week before."
"Rudy Tillett?" Eric asked. "Was Monica with him?"
"No, just Rudy."
"What did they talk about?"
"I don't eavesdrop," Rosa said firmly.
Gail asked, "Did she seem happy when she talked to him? Angry?"
"They were on their way up the stairs, so I didn't hear anything. She didn't sound angry. I'd say she was regular."
"How long was he there?"
"About an hour, I guess," Rosa said. "Then Mrs. Tillett said to me, 'Rosa, how would you like to work for Rudy and Monica?' So I said 'No, Mrs. Tillett, I want to work for you.' I started to cry, like she was going to send me away." Rosa smiled, embarrassed at herself. "But no, she said Rudy and Monica were going to have the house after she died." Gail gasped, but Rosa went on. "So I said, 'Mrs. Tillett, I guess this means you have to write another will.' "
"And did she?" Eric asked.
"She called up her attorney about it."
"Alan Weissman," Gail said, her hopes plummeting.
Rosa nodded. "She made an appointment for that Friday, but she canceled it, I guess because she had so much to do, getting ready for her vacation. She had the airline tickets and everything, but she never got to go."
Gail asked, "Did you hear Mrs. Tillett mention Rudy when Irving Adler came to visit on Monday?"
"No."
"How about phone calls? Did Mrs. Tillett call anyone that week?"
"Of course, but she always does. I mean, she used to."
"Did she go out to meet anyone?"
Rosa's eyes searched the ceiling. "She did see an attorney."
"Who? Alan Weissman?"
"No." She leaned forward to pick up Gail's business card, which she had earlier put down on the glass-topped coffee table. She looked at it. "Black."
"Lawrence Black?" Gail and Eric said in unison.
"Mrs. Tillett left a card like this one in the kitchen after she used the phone, but it had his name on it. I asked her if she wanted it or should I throw it away. She called him Larry."
"When was this?" Eric asked.
"Wednesday morning. Right after she hung up she told me what to make fo
r the bridge party that night, that's how I remember." Rosa smiled at Gail. "Your mother was at the party."
Eric asked, "Did she talk to Larry Black about her will?"
"I don't know."
"You must remember something about the conversation."
"She said she had to see him, I remember that. She finished her breakfast, she went upstairs to get dressed, then she left."
"How did she sound?" Gail asked. "What was her tone of voice when she was talking to Larry Black?"
"Like she was going to have her way. Mrs. Tillett usually sounded like that, though. She said, 'We're going to talk about this now.' "
"So she went to his office?"
"No. They were going to meet for coffee, I don't know where."
Gail asked, "When she got back, what kind of mood was she in? Did she say anything?"
"I wasn't there. I left at noon, like I usually do on Wednesdays. Like I did. That was the last time I ever saw her. Except the next day. When she was dead." The last word came out as a whisper.
Gail reached over and took her hand. "Is there anything else you can tell us?" Rosa shook her head.
"All right." Gail exchanged a look with Eric, then collected her purse. "You've been very helpful, Mrs. Portales." Eric stood up and moved a little toward the door, expecting Gail to follow. But she continued to sit there on the sofa. She asked, "You said Mrs. Tillett was going on vacation?"
"Yes."
Irene had mentioned something about that. How Althea Tillett would take vacations by herself. How adventurous, how brave, Irene had said, admiring her friend.
Gail asked, "Where was she going?"
"Greece. Well, first she was going to fly to Athens, then go to Mykonos. I think. Yes."
"Did Mrs. Tillett travel frequently?"
"Oh, sure. She'd go somewhere every year, just about. Rome, Nice, London. Last year she went to Ibiza. That's an island near Spain. She went to Amsterdam once, but didn't like it. She said it was too dirty. She liked Greece best. The islands."
"And she went alone?"
Rosa's cheeks colored a little, and her eyes cut over to Eric, who was still standing by the door, jingling some change in his trousers pocket. She whispered, "She would meet people there. You know. Men. Not old ones either."
"Really."
"Oh, yes. She would come back looking so happy. She always brought me something. A blouse or sandals or some wine." Rosa smiled. "A woman her age."
Gail said, "Do you know who her travel agent was?"
"For you?”
"No. I was just wondering. Did she use Gateway Travel?"
"Well ... I remember a picture of a gate on the folder the tickets came in."
Gail nodded slowly. "Who did she speak to over there? Anyone in particular? Carla?"
Rosa Portales went blank again. "I don't know."
At the door, Gail said, "Mrs. Portales, if Miami Beach Detective Gary Davis comes by, I'd appreciate your not telling him I was here."
"All right."
"One more thing. A lawyer named Anthony Quintana will call you." "And you weren't here."
"No. He knows I came. He's Patrick's other attorney. He's also a friend of mine, and a good man. You can talk to him."
"All right." Rosa smiled. "I'm glad I got to meet you. Your mother said she had a daughter who's an attorney. She's very proud."
The elevator rose toward the fourteenth floor of the Hartwell Building. Gail impatiently watched the numbers counting up, and punched the "close door" button every time someone got off. It was lunchtime, and the elevator stopped at nearly every floor.
Eric stepped back a little to let a delivery boy get on with his cardboard box of sandwiches and drinks, a bill from the deli downstairs clipped to one of the bags.
He whispered to Gail, "I think Adler was sorry he'd talked Althea out of whatever it was she wanted to do. He probably blamed himself when she died. Maybe he even thought her murder was his fault."
The delivery boy looked around. Gail made a quick shake of her head in Eric's direction.
Between the tenth and eleventh floors they were alone. Gail said, "You've been speculating all the way from Hialeah. You don't have to. I'm going to see Larry Black."
Larry could be at lunch. Usually he had lunch at the Hartwell Club. She would track him down, wherever he was, take him into a room. Larry, you nearly passed out when I told you Althea had been murdered. Now I know why. She was involved in something, Larry. What was it? Easton? You're going to answer me this time.
Eric said, "Gail—" When the elevator stopped again, three women got on, laughing about getting stuck on the Metromover. He shifted closer. "Let me go with you."
"I'll handle it."
He leaned down to whisper in her ear. "Come on. You're always cutting me out. I thought we were partners on this. . . . What if he gets violent?"
She looked up at him. "Larry?"
"Yeah. He won't take me on." A fierceness hardened his boyish features, and Gail imagined for a moment what Eric had been like in cleats and shoulder pads and a helmet.
When the women got off she said, "You can't think Larry Black murdered Althea Tillett."
"But if they argued—"
"No. Larry must have known what she and Irving talked about, that's all."
At fourteen the elevator door opened and they got off, Gail's heels tapping quickly toward the lobby.
Eric held open the door to the inner offices. He said, "Adler and Mrs. Tillett were talking about the Easton Trust. They had to be. That's why Larry wouldn't tell you who was in it. And remember who came to see her the week before. Rudy Tillett. T is for Tillett, Gail. The acronym?"
"I thought of that."
"Maybe Rudy did it. Killed her, then forged the will."
"I thought of that, too."
They made a turn, and Gail was suddenly aware, like thunder catching up with a lightning flash, of what she had sensed from the moment they had entered the lobby. The place was quiet as a tomb. No clacking keyboards, no buzzing conversations. At the end of the hall, three attorneys and a group of secretaries had gathered.
"What's going on?" Eric asked.
Miriam spotted Gail and ran to her.
"Miriam! What is it? What happened?"
Her words came out in a breathless rush. "Larry Black. They found him. He's been at Jackson Memorial for a whole day, and they didn't know who he was."
Gail grabbed her shoulders. "Is he all right?"
Miriam shook her head and burst into tears.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Three teenagers truant from school had found Larry Black on Monday, shortly after noon, in a vacant lot west of the airport, left behind a pile of trash dumped weeks or months ago. He had been struck more than a dozen times with something heavy and metallic that had broken an arm and some ribs, cracked his skull, and made his face unrecognizable. His wallet, watch, and wedding ring were gone. At the hospital Larry was one more unidentified male crime victim, but his expensive clothing said that someone would be looking for him. Dee-Dee Black reported him missing early Tuesday morning, and they quickly made the connection.
Gail got to the lobby of Jackson Memorial at one-thirty and met Paul Robineau coming out. He had insisted on speaking to Larry's doctor, who had nothing new to say. Internal bleeding, possible brain damage. He had not been optimistic.
Outside intensive care Gail said hello to some of Larry's friends and family. No one was allowed in, except for Dee-Dee. Gail heard a man and woman whisper about Larry in the past tense.
Using a pay phone, she dialed Clarinda Campbell's number for some advice on what to tell Karen. It had to be handled just right. Karen hadn't known Irving Adler, but she knew Larry. Clarinda's answering machine came on. Gail left a message then called home and told Phyllis what had happened, and please not to let Karen watch the news on TV. Phyllis said she would say a prayer for Mr. Black.
After she hung up, Gail kept her hand on the telephone, wishing she could speak to Anthony.
Wishing this morning at the courthouse had not happened.
There was nothing to do but go back to the office. The pill Eric had given her earlier was wearing off. Now she was going on nerves. If she went home and pulled the blinds and lay in bed, sleep would still not come.
Down the corridor Gail noticed a thin, auburn-haired woman walking an elderly man to the elevator. In a minute she would come this way, and the people in the waiting area would cluster around her. Gail left the pay phone and hurried toward the elevator, where the doors were just closing.
Dee-Dee's hair was tied back, and her eyes were swollen, her face splotched. Gail came up beside her and gently took her arm. "Dee-Dee, I'm so sorry. Please, is there anything I can do?"
A wan smile. "Nothing but wait. Our boy is doing better, though. He opened his eyes for a few seconds—the one that isn't bandaged. I think he even knew me. God, he looks like hell."
"How are Trisha and Mandy?"
"A mess. They're with my sister. I don't want them to see him this way, but if—if something happens to him before ..."
Gail hugged her.
They clung for a moment, then Dee-Dee looked over Gail's shoulder toward the people gathered at the end of the hall. "I should go say hello. They're so dear, waiting like this."
They walked slowly together. Gail asked if the police had found out what had happened.
Dee-Dee said, "Larry left the house about a quarter to eight. His secretary called about eleven to ask if he was coming in. I didn't know what to tell her, maybe he'd gone to see clients. I ran some errands in the afternoon. Larry never came home. I waited till nearly midnight, then called the police. They wouldn't even take a report until this morning." She spoke as if she had recited these events a dozen times already. "Those boys found him just in time. Somebody robbed him and left him there to die."
She stopped walking and ducked behind a head-high laundry cart, out of the visitors' line of sight. "Gail, they found things in his pockets." Her eyes were shiny with tears. "Cocaine in a little plastic bag. And a pack of condoms. One was gone."
"I don't believe that. Not Larry."
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